“No,” he said at last, sitting back with his arms on the arms of the chair. He made it look even more a throne than before. “It might not be safe. I would not like one of you to take a spear through your ribs by accident.” Coiren opened her mouth, but he rode over her. “For your own safety, none of you should come closer to me than a mile without permission. Best if you stay that far from the Palace without permission, too. You will know when I’m ready to go with you. I promise that.” Abruptly he was on his feet. Atop the dais he stood tall enough that the Aes Sedai had to crane their necks, and it was plain none of them liked it any more than they liked his restrictions. Three faces carved in stone stared up at him. “I will let you go back to your resting now. The quicker I can see to certain things, the quicker I can go to the Tower. I will send word when I can see you again.”

They were not pleased at so sudden a dismissal, or likely at any dismissal—Aes Sedai were the ones who said when an audience was done—yet there was little they could do except make their minimal curtsies, disgruntlement nearly breaking through Aes Sedai calm.

As they turned to go, Rand spoke again, casually. “I forgot to ask. How is Alviarin?”

“She is well.” Galina’s mouth hung open for a moment, her eyes widening. She appeared startled to have spoken.

Coiren hesitated on the brink of using the opening to say more, but Rand stood impatiently, all but tapping his foot. When they were gone, he stepped down, hefting that spearhead and staring at the doors that had closed behind them.

Egwene wasted not a moment striding toward him. “What game are you playing at, Rand al’Thor?” She had taken half a dozen steps before a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrors made her realize she had walked right through his weave of saidin. At least she had not known when it touched her. “Well?”

“She’s one of Alviarin’s,” he said thoughtfully. “Galina. She is one of Alviarin’s friends. I’d bet on it.”

Planting herself in front of him, she sniffed. “You’d lose your coin and stick yourself in the foot with a pitchfork, too. Galina is a Red, or I never saw one.”

“Because she doesn’t like me?” He was looking at her now, and she almost wished he was not. “Because she’s afraid of me?” He was not grimacing or glaring, or even staring particularly hard, yet his eyes seemed to know things she did not. She hated that. His smile came so suddenly she blinked. “Egwene, do you expect me to believe you can tell a woman’s Ajah by her face?”

“No, but—”